Travelling Sayuri
by Moka-girl
Summary: / HIATUS / "I... I'm anime..." A tale of self-discovery, independence, happiness and dreams. From immaturity to maturity, here is the story of Lily Hopkins. Realistic self-insert into the world of Shugo Chara.


_Couldn't resist the temptation of writing such a story, especially since most of the Shugo Chara fanfics aren't truly impressive, like what I am used to reading. I haven't found a self-insert of good quality yet in the archives, and I went through them several times. When I say good quality, I mean it. It must be without any grammar mistakes and mustn't be Mary-Sueish._

_Frankly, I doubt there'll be any pairings that include our OC, but you are allowed to ask for one and I'll consider it. If you want an update at all, then I'd like two reviews please, because if I don't I'll concentrate on my other pieces of work._

_Have a good read!_

O~O

It was just about seven o'clock. The sky of February presented itself under the aspect of a fresh bruise behind the windows when I decided to force Uncle Damon to go in exile in the cupboard.

The painting didn't belong to me, just like the rest of the house, but I found it really ugly. As in, it freaked the hell out of me. Even my mother thought so, and Damon was her elder brother.

"Oh, that horror?" Lynn — my mother — had said. "Ignore it. Pretend it isn't there."

"How can you ignore such a thing? It stands out too much!"

On the painting, Uncle Damon seemed barely older than me, but his complexion was grey and strangely faded, as if he had been put in the washing machine. His pink lips gave a glimpse of thin teeth that shined as much as the ones of the wolf in _The little red riding-hood_.

But his scariest feature was the colour of his eyes.

I could've betted that they would be throwing out a creepy green glow and that the eyes would start rolling about in their sockets as soon as the lights went off.

Uncle Damon looked handsome, yes, but in a dangerous yet sexy predator way, like in Twilight. And unfortunately for poor Uncle Damon, his sister and her daughter — me — were immune to his charm. If Gladys were to have seen the painting, she would have forgotten Robert Pattinson immediately.

"If I looked like such a creeper, I wouldn't let anyone paint me."

Lynn gave a vague gesture of her perfectly manicured hand.

"It doesn't matter anyway, Lily. He's dead." I suspected she missed her only sibling. The only thing I knew about his mysterious suicide was that he had been kind of deranged for some time before it and that his insanity had caused it.

God it must be horrible for your own brother to be crazy.

I mean, I already found it mean the Lynn and I had been evicted from our home back in Cardiff. Mum had been left with no other alternative but to call her father, whom she hadn't talked to in years, to beg him for a place to stay.

The rich bastard 'accorded' us the mansion in Llandogo, where my mother had grown up. Since the death of his son, my grandpa had been living in a nice house in Itten, and although it was nowhere near as beautiful as the mansion, at least it was near civilisation and didn't have a creepy vibe.

According to mum, grandpa believed the place was haunted and didn't want to live in it. But the place held too many memories for him to sell it or destroy it, so he simply left it alone. The only person that had been in it recently was a cleaning lady that came once a week to take care of the place, especially the common rooms, Damon's bedroom and the master bedroom.

Then, once we got ourselves somewhere to live, we were forced to take a bus stuffed with people, barely managing to keep hold of our bags with all our things.

If I had to stay for an undetermined amount of time in this chilling place, than I didn't want a painting to rot my life here.

Having found an empty cupboard in the hall, just before the monumental staircase, I put it in there, the coloured side of the painting facing the wall in the back.

"Good night, Uncle Damon," I whispered, before closing the cupboard's door.

But it didn't make me feel any better, unfortunately.

Hands in the pockets of my blazer, I went back to the small lounge and couldn't help but marvel at the room's beauty: high ceiling, polished parquet floor, ancient armchairs with feet in the shape of animals... I could have mistaken it for the boudoir of a duchess.

However, this room was of a level of pretty I wasn't used to; the one called 'You can only touch it with your eyes.

The front door let out a pained groan, and I heard mum's voice filter through the walls:

"God, Lily! Didn't you carry up your things yet?"

"I was looking about."

"It's nice, isn't it?"

I took a look around and deciding not to hurt her feelings.

"Yeah..."

I heard a grunt.

"Of course, I absolutely do not need your help. These bags are as heavy as a whale, but I'll survive."

My guilty conscience made me go over and help her bring the shopping bags full of food over to the kitchen and start filling the fridge.

"Where's the milk? And the cereals?"

Lynn brought her fist down in a fit of rage. "Damn it! I knew I forgot something!"

That was something we both had in common; a really sucky memory. Thankfully, we made up for it with our impressive logic.

"Lynn... it can wait 'til tomorrow morning."

I smiled reassuringly.

She gave me a pained grimace in return.

"Lily-pie, you know I need the milk for my coffee. And coffee is something I can not function without." Her voice didn't hold any exasperation at the fact that I had momentarily forgot one of the major things that defined my mother's character.

She finished putting the last things in the fridge. I could see a few goose bumps on the bits of skin here and there that were revealed with each of my mother's graceful movements.

Lynn really looked nice. She was dressed like a classy business woman, a style she had passed on to me. However, due to my complete obsession with mangas, I'd always add something that made my clothes divert from what my mother wanted from me.

Take what I was wearing now, for example: a pocket-less white shirt striped in thick black lines down my breasts and around the junction between my arms and shoulders, with a black sailor collar with white stripes near the edge, and a checked red bow tie underneath the neckline.

Just starting with what I wore on the top half of my body made me wanna sleep. Too many bloody words! (Pshh... wait 'til you see the rest.)

I was also wearing my favourite top stitched checked skirt, black thigh stockings and black galosh shoes. Complemented with my black blazer, it made me look totally _chic_ and despite the small amount of disapproval coming from mum, she couldn't say much, because it still looked like what she wore.

Gladys, by best friend from Cardiff, had always loved my style, comparing me to various characters of Japanese comics and squealing half of the time, yet still finding the opportune moment to whine about how she couldn't find those sorts of clothes.

I followed Lynn to the dining room, grabbing an apple that I began to throw about.

"Did I tell you this house has belonged to our family for more than a century?"

"You did."

I looked around, seeing the shining crystal chandelier and the beautifully carved dark wooden chairs.

"Is your dad a millionaire?" I asked, genuinely impressed.

"The family fortune, Lily! It keeps him going, as well as his shipping company." She sighed. "Sometimes I wish he were less successful."

I understood what she meant with that last comment. Mum had problems keeping her jobs and her CV was going from bad to worse, seeing as she always managed to get herself fired. The worse was all the money she was spending on things we didn't need.

"He must be a snobby git, then." Okay, that was a total stereotype, and God knew I wasn't the type that jumped to conclusions. But seeing as my mother was depressed, I could always cheer her up by insulting a family member she didn't think much of.

She laughed and set her hand down on the table, making the bracelets round her wrist emit small metallic noises.

"Well, at least that 'snobby git' didn't make any changes in this house since my childhood. And it's been some time since I was a child, and you too, Lily."

Shyly, I turned my head down and inspected the locks of light chestnut-coloured hair hiding my reddish brown eyes. At thirteen years of age, I was already at my mum's height. I thought of myself as an adult in mind, tired and without illusions, and had always been a little... out of place.

I especially felt it at school. Too introverted to make friends, I hadn't lived my life really happily. My truest friend was Gladys, the only one of my age that really understood me. I called her my best friend... but...

...I don't really know her.

Never bothered to invite her to my home, because she didn't do so first, nor did I think I could answer any questions on things about her a best friend should know.

I didn't know her favourite colour, but I knew and could list stupid little things like every manga I lent her or she lent me, all her favourite characters...

I closed my suddenly teary eyes, feeling uncomfortable.

I knew mum wouldn't have noticed anything wrong anyway, especially if I hid my tears. After all, it had been years since I had shown any facial emotion what so ever.

O~O

The house, a true explosion of gilded objects, of draperies and tablemats, was so grand and vast that, the first few hours, I got the distinct impression of being a hamster in a three kilometres long labyrinth. I couldn't stop touching everything, even though I knew it was forbidden. It was still so, right now, as I explored the gigantic home that had become mine.

How else could I feel at home than to know everything about the house? It was a way for me to truly _know_ the house under every one of its aspects, consequences be damned.

But what truly got to me was the room I had taken for myself. By some stupid coincidence, I had chosen Uncle Damon's bedroom, on the first floor. Mostly because it was the closest to the house's library and had several windows, but also 'cause with it's rather plain furniture, I had immediately known it was what I wanted for myself.

I had only realized it was his when I had browsed through the books on one of the many shelves there were, and discovered his name on the front page with a short message wishing him a happy birthday.

His choice of reading was mainly centred around dead religions, biology, spiritualism, ancient artefacts and plant-based medicine. Bored already, I had instead opted for the only book that could be of interest, a Sherlock Holmes novel.

I had only ever read one of Conan Doyles books on him, and that was for school. However, with my recent obsession with Kuroshitsuji (or Black Butler for the poor unaware souls) I had gained a sizeable interest in the Victorian period of time and was more willing to read a Holmes mystery.

Freaked out at the discovery that this was the room of some dude in my family that had gone batshit crazy, I had put it back where I'd found it and instead opted to sit in a corner of the room, playing with my nails. But before that, I took off my blazer and sat on it, because the floor looked like it would give me horrible splinters.

When I got bored with the activity, I started amusing myself by trying to see if I could dislodge any of the old wooden planks that made up the floor. They were in desperate need of polishing and most were cracked. I opted for an unassuming one near me, just slightly under the king-sized bed.

.

.

.

It didn't budge.

Angered, I tried one next to it, with the same results. I tried another one, and another one, and another one until I finally found one deep under the bed that I managed to rip off.

I smiled at my success in damaging the floor, and pushed the big bed to the side to view the results of taking off an old plank of wood from the floor.

To find amusement in such things proved just how depressingly bored I was.

When I saw the hidden compartment that had been under the plank, I didn't immediately register the meaning, but when I did, I grinned stupidly and leant down. The only thing there was a brown leather-covered book whose title was written in fancy old letters from the Middle Ages I had trouble reading. I turned it round' to search the other side for a readable summary, but the unreadable letters were there too.

I opened it and was relieved to see it was easier to decrypt and even had little annotations in the margins with small arrows pointing to different parts of the text. With ease, I deducted that the book talked about some form of archaic magic that went down from generation to generation in the blood of a family called Rainsworth.

Written in red ink next to it was: _repeat 'Ka hisona foulgte fiat e nay Rainsworth trepan' twice and then burn lock of hair while looking into mirror._

Weird. Uncle Damon really didn't know when to stop, did he? Only kids believed in magic. I, myself, only liked to read novels or manga that had to do with it, not practical theory.

I sneered at it, unimpressed.

I would never do it.

O~O

.

.

.

Okay, I'll admit it.

I did it. Boredom really got to me and I did that stupid voodoo thing in front of the mirror. It was totally idiotic of me and I regret it, especially seeing as the moment my lock of hair finished burning, everything I could see with my eyes flickered between two images: the bathroom I was in and a dark alley filled with dumpsters.

And guess what? The vision stopped on the alleyway! Whoo-hoo for me!

I hadn't known it really could do magic! I thought it was a hoax, like every other so-called magic formulas you could find.

And now, here I was, my blazer in my left hand and my big fat handbag in the other, completely and utterly lost.

I felt like crying. Really, I did. But instead, I just blinked, hoping my bathroom would magically reappear instead.

It didn't work. It did not work. It did NOT WORK! IT DID NOT WORK!

A voice inside my head began screaming profanities, demanding retribution for what had been done to me. Outwardly I appeared calm and collected, and that was probably what saved me from any people with bad intentions looking for lost people to mug.

I was rapidly losing my calm, and that would not do. Taking a deep breath, I shouldered my bag and walked out of the alley, into the noisy street it led to.

"Whoa..." There didn't seem to be any other word to voice my amazement.

Saturated with vehicles and people, the street led to believe that someone had tried to cram as many things as possible in it. Luminous signs hung to the walls of the buildings, written in Asian writing, and I could recognize bits and pieces of English here and there with faulty grammar that said things that were supposed to sound cool and 'in', but looked like a washed out copy of true places to shop at.

There were more people than I was used to, and they walked in a steady flow that looked choreographed. The majority had black hair, but I more was surprised by the fact that everything was anime.

I looked behind me to check and, surprise surprise, the alley had been converted to Japanese cartoon too.

My heartbeat had picked up dramatically, and as I raised my hand to my eye-level, I began to believe I would soon be the unfortunate victim of a heart attack. Maybe they'd write _Killed by Kira_ on my grave, as a tribute to my Death Note obsession?

"I... I'm anime..."

My first sentence since I got here. Impressive, right? Feel the sarcasm, people. My own shyness when it came to verbally expressing myself made me want to kill someone. Or severely injure, whichever suited the purpose of calming me down best.

The noise wasn't helping, either. I could hear people talking, shouting out for people to try their merchandise (Well, that's what I think they were yelling, I can't really speak the lingo, after all) the automobiles were beeping and big publicity screens were loudly proclaiming things I didn't bother listen to.

My poor brain was working furiously, unbelieving of the situation. I mean, what the hell is going on?

I had read enough fiction to make a wild guess at what was happening, but damn, I've studied physics and I know it's impossible!

Clenching my eyes shut, I balled my hands into fists. "When I'll open my eyes, I'll be back in the creepy old mansion, and everything will be completely normal, just as I'm used to." I murmured.

I opened my eyes, and was disappointed and further terrified at the fact that I hadn't moved an inch from my spot, by the busy street.

What was I going to do now?

O~O

_Is it okay, or bad? I just love these self-insert fics, but I prefer to hide beneath fake names. Lily is not me, but I gave her a good part of my personality._

_The second chapter will arrive if I get two reviews!_

_Ciao!_


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